The Firsts
by love-and-truthiness
Summary: A series of EdXWin fics about all of their "firsts". Except that one. I don't write lemons. POVs will vary. Rated T for mild language, and and some anatomical humor?
1. First Time I Held his Hands

**This is going to be an on-going thing. I have many ideas that I look forward to developing further. Right now, I only have the first "first" ready for publication. More to come soon!**

He scowled his scowl at me, standing in the doorway. He took hold of my hands. I felt my breath catch. He stared me in the eye. Ed had always been assertive, but this was a new (and a very welcome) brand of assertiveness for him.

He commanded my confidence in him. He swore he would return with his pulse still beating. He reassured me relentlessly. Yet I remained unconvinced until he touched my hands like that.

He continued talking, about what I can't recall. I was busy analyzing every sensation of his hands on mine. I took notice of the size of his hand in relation to mine. His hand was warmer than mine. I found I could see a collection of blurry reflections of us in his automail fingers. I counted the number of wrinkles on the knuckle of his flesh index finger. 26.

Then his scowl turned into a smile. The way he looked at me begot a fluttery sensation in my stomach. It was a sensation unfamiliar to me at the time, but has since become trademark for Ed.

That was the first time I saw Ed as handsome and not cute. I was tempted to kiss him, but I knew that if I did kiss him then, it would have been for selfish reasons. So instead, I watched his lips as he talked.

"You got it?" He asked. I snapped out of my reverie.

"Absolutely. Got it." I replied. I got it? Got what? I got that I was smitten with him already, by 14 years of age.


	2. First Dance?

**Chapter 2: First Dance?**

**A/N: A twist on the ever-popular "Fancy Ball" fic. Trust me, it's not like the others, not that there's anything wrong with those.**

One day your boss gets sick of you, and he schemes to get you out of his hair. The next day you find yourself in a dance hall full of strangers. Not a familiar face in the crowd. Well, except Susan, that kooky librarian with the pet squirrels. But I try to avoid being familiar with her.

It all happened yesterday: "_You'll have fun, Winry_," he said. ". . . _Lots of kids your age will be there_," he said. Mr. Garfiel stops at nothing to get his way sometimes.

So there I was at the event. I'd found the "kids my age", who were, by the way, _not_ my age. Adults don't seem to get it, do they? I'm fifteen. I have nothing in common with 11-year-old Gabby or 10-year-old Adrienne. But everybody under 20 must all be the same, right?

Conversation was far from compelling; it consisted of Gabby's food allergies to everything, and Adrienne's obsession with everything equine.

However, I didn't seem to have much choice in company. My tablemates and I appeared to be the only ones in the room under the age of fifty.

That's when he approached me. I saw his hand as a ticket to freedom, so I took it. I smiled to the girls and shrugged as though I had no control over the situation.

As we danced, he introduced himself as Jason. I looked down at my hands in his _two _flesh-and-bloodhands and I began to regret my decision.

I tilted my head down and noticed his sneaker-clad feet. I found myself imagining those sneakers to be black combat boots.

I turned my focus to an ambiguous, nondescript portion of his shirt. Maybe if I didn't look up, he could also be wearing a blond plait instead of floppy black hair. If I refused to meet his eyes, they could be gold instead of dull brown.

The song ended.

"What did you say your name was?" He asked.

I lifted my head. His eyes were still brown.

"I'm Winry," I replied. He smiled.

The music resumed, as did the dancing. I was becoming too aware of Jason. Too aware of his presence, of his hand on my back. Aware of his appearance. He was too tall. Too skinny. His smile was too handsome. Nothing was comfortable.

When the second song ended, I tore my hands from his neck.

I only mumbled, "sorrydontfeelsowell," in one rushed breath, before I sprinted back to the table. I just couldn't take dancing with him any longer. I sat down next to Gabby. Have I mentioned just how much I _love_ this table?

The younger girl, Adrienne giggled. "Why did you dance with that _boy_?"

Well, when you put it _that_ way. . .

"She danced with him 'cuz he's real cute. You're too young to understand. Right, Winry?" said Gabby.

"No, no, no. No, he's not cute. At all." I replied.

Gabby stared off into the crowd. "Those big, brown eyes and his perfect hair. . . And so tall . . ."

"Well you can have him," I offered.

Both girls giggled.

A couple moments later, Jason approached with drinks in hand.

"Hot apple cider?" He placed the glasses in front of us. "I thought it might make you feel better, Winry."

"Thanks," I said.

"Hi!" Gabby smiled theatrically. "You can have my cider, I'm allergic to nutmeg!"

Is that what a pre-teen pick-up line sounds like?

"You're a really good dancer!" Gabby batted her eyelashes for good measure.

"Looks like you've got a fan," I chuckled.

Jason winked at me and then turned to Gabby. "Would you give me the pleasure of having the next dance?" He was sweet enough to humor the girl.

Adrienne crinkled her nose as Gabby took his hand.

"Of course!" Gabby said.

Jason smiled at me as he walked Gabby to the dance floor. Gabby looked so petite next to Jason. She stepped her little feet onto his shoes.

Gabby was right, Jason _is_ cute. When he's dancing with somebody else.

Oh, and as it turns out, Adrienne was also right. Horses are pretty amazing. Did you know that horses typically sleep only about two and a half to four hours in a 24-hour period? The automail I could make if I only needed two and a half hours of sleep. . .

Anyway, I discovered something that night: I'll never be satisfied until I dance with Edward. So in the meantime, I've learned to enjoy watching others dance.


	3. First Snow

**Chapter 3: First Snow**

**A/N: I found this fic in my journal when I was supposed to be doing my speech assignment. Needless to say, the fic took precedence over my major test grade. I still have an "A" in that class. I think. Take **_**that**_**, prof. Robinson. **

It was the morning of Winry's fourteenth birthday, and I was about to puke. All that cake and ice cream didn't look so good now.

It was all _Daniel'_s fault. Him in all his nausea-inducing glory. He invited himself into the party and brought this really dumb gift for Winry. Fourteen dumb flowers, each one dumber than the last. He gave some lame speech about how each flower represented a year of her life or whatever. I wanted to say, "Keep sweet-talking her, and you'll be the one with flowers, _on your grave_!" But I didn't. If I said that, how would it sound to her? Exactly.

After lunch, Daniel graced us with a song. It was a long, droning song that couldn't end too soon. Daniel said he wrote it himself for the occasion. Of course he did. Winry smiled.

That's when he took Winry's hand and announced he had another song for her.

That is also when I decided to amble out of the room, out of the house, into the snow-dusted lawn. The lawn turned green to white in a matter of moments. I grabbed a handful of the snow and packed it into a ball, and lobbed the snowball at the oak.

I sat and watched the snow fall for a while, left hand frozen.

After kicking dozens of icicles off the shrubs, I heard the door creak behind me. The door shut, and I heard the crunch of snow under foot.

"Do you enjoy getting frostbitten?" Winry said, handing me my gloves. I took them without a word. "It's the first time it's snowed in a long while." Winry said, looking upward.

"Yeah, the last time it snowed here, I froze both of my hands." I said.

Winry looked down. "You know, I invited you to my house for a reason. I wanted you to celebrate my birthday with me."

"You looked like you were having a great time without me," I said.

"Well, I love his voice," she stated.

I studied her. "Do you?" I grumbled.

"Of course. And he even asked me to dance."

My breathing halted for a second.

". . . But I declined." She continued, "He tried to do this old-fashioned waltzy thing. So unnatural. He's like an old man or something. He's weird."

I frowned. "You always call me weird."

"Yeah, well, you're the right kind of weird," she laughed.

I _always_ forgive her when she laughs.

"Now, how about some cake?" Winry asked.

"Sounds good," I replied.

As she turned and headed back to the house, I picked up some more snow and smirked as I hurled a snowball at Winry's back.

She spun around and gave me a threatening look. Her hand went to her hip pocket and gripped something shiny.

I swallowed, and then laughed. Does _my_ laughter have the same effect on _her_?

She cocked an eyebrow. Her hand released the wrench, and she motioned me to come inside.

I waved at Daniel with my gloved hand as I entered the kitchen.

I bit into the cake and looked out the window. Why does home always feel more complete when it's snowing out?

**A/N: So, I hope you enjoyed "First Snow". This sort of has a weird title, as it's not an action, like "First Dance" or "First Kiss" or something. Oh well, it seemed clever at the time. . .**


End file.
